These Hands Are Mine To Hold
by wirewrappedlily
Summary: "I wasn't there. I didn't see it. Still." Sterek, snuggling for survival. Derek deals with being near fire.


Stiles had wrestled Derek out of his clothes and laid him down on the couch with hardly any help from either Derek or Scott, and he'd use that as the excuse for his snapping at Scott to just leave if he wasn't going to be a help. Derek's body was too cold, even for a human, and the grey pallor of his face, the hazy consciousness that barely cracked open his eyes, filled Stiles with a fear like nothing ever really had before. Derek was too loose; he was too out of it. The magic of the ice-spirit had sapped him of his strength and his heat, and Stiles raged against the thought that Derek would just slip away as this frozen and cracked shell.

The chains that the ice-spirit had tied around Derek had bitten through his clothes, into his skin beneath, leaving a deep, sickly purple series of stripes that should have healed already. Derek's lips were blue with cold, and he was shuddering so hard Stiles whimpered at the sight of it, his brain going beyond flying trying to figure out what to do in the face of Derek's needing him. Stiles had broken more traffic laws to get them home than a son of the sheriff ever should have; he'd brought Derek into his house without second thought, had basically hissed at Scott when he'd tried to question him. He'd just needed Scott to get him into the house and out of his clothes as fast as possible, survival techniques flying through his head. Stiles knew as soon as he went for a hot waterbottle that he'd been right to bring him to his own house; here, at least, he knew where what he needed and wanted was. Stiles fell to his knees in front of the fireplace, working on autopilot as he checked the flue and readied the wood to be burned. He'd draped Derek under blankets, but it'd be no help so long as he had no body heat to warm them with, and Stiles knew that fireplace had been made the living room the warmest room in the house every winter his mother had been alive. Stiles did what she'd done, burning the wood bark-side down to get the flames to burn higher at first, catching more easily.

Stiles made hot water with lemon and honey with the water left from filling the waterbottle, tucking it at Derek's feet carefully and wracking his brain for another to give Derek to hold onto. Stiles pulled Derek upright, propping him against Stiles's shoulder as he coaxed the drink down Derek's throat carefully, his fingers dimpling the bare skin under his hands and mussing wetly-plastered black curls under the slide of his palm as he angled Derek's head to drink.

Derek groaned as Stiles laid him back down, his eyes opening a tiny bit more as he caught Stiles's wrist, his hand making Stiles's look birdlike in fragility even if his grip was unbearably loose, too exhausted for much strength. Derek looked at him meaningfully under half-lidded eyes, and Stiles swallowed loudly, nodding. Slowly, Stiles pulled his arm free, standing up and checking the fire once more, all too aware of Derek and his history, "Not a word." Stiles tried and failed for threatening as he tugged his shirt off over his head, slipping into the cocoon of blankets that felt cold as an untouched winter's bed. Stiles shivered once as he pressed his chest to Derek's, Derek's hands sliding ice-cold over his back as Derek wrapped his arms around Stiles in return, his face hesitating to turn into Stiles's neck until Stiles's fingers reached up to tangle into his hair, encouraging it. Stiles bit down on a shiver, pressing deeper into him and willing him to warm up. The two of them pressed onto the couch was a precarious fit, but Stiles couldn't help relaxing into it as Derek's grip on him pulled him further in, Stiles easily taking Derek's weight as he started to turn to press him into the couch.

"I'm sorry." Derek half-croaked, half-breathed. Stiles wasn't even sure he'd heard it, holding tighter. "D-Don't…" Derek swallowed audibly, "Don't go near the fire." He whimpered finally.

Stiles's breath caught, his hand reaching to cup the back of Derek's head tenderly, "I'm safe. I'm with you. I'm safe. You're safe, too."

Derek's frozen hands pressed into the small of Stiles's back desperately, his face lowering until his eyes were hidden against Stiles's shoulder, the wet flutter of his eyelashes making Stiles worry so acutely it was almost pain. "Need you...safe."

"I am. I'm right here. The pack's safe, too. Lydia and I took care of it, Derek: no more blizzards for Beacon Hills." Derek whimpered in response to that.

"Can't...keep you...safe."

"Yes, you can. You do." Stiles comforted. "You brought us together; you keep us safe."

Derek moved his head in a slow, lolling shake. "'S you. You got...you got Lydia and Scott...Brought Erica 'n Boyd back...you."

"You brought us together to begin with, sourwolf. I just kept us stable." Stiles murmured, hugging him closer. Being an emotional support for anyone probably wasn't suggestible, but Stiles would do it if only because Derek needed all the support he could get.

"You make up for my bad choices." Derek mumbled.

"I really don't think anyone could make up for all of someone's bad choices, but I can try to make some of them better." Stiles breathed. He scrubbed his fingers through Derek's damp hair, battling himself against feeling so comfortable. The heat of the fire and Derek's recovering body and his was beginning to weigh at Stiles too heavily. Licking his lips, Stiles tried to shape words in a way that wouldn't bolt Derek from his side in a heartbeat, "Stay here...go to sleep, have a good sleep, so you can heal completely. Please." Stiles wrapped his arms around Derek as best he could between the angle and the sheer embarrassment of wanting to keep the older man there so badly, "Just stay."

Derek hummed, pressing an ice cube for a nose into Stiles's warm throat and tightening his arms around him to the point where Stiles should have been crushed, but his slighter frame was somehow folding into Derek's chest so that he simply fit there instead. It was the most comfortable Stiles had ever been in someone's arms, and he couldn't help falling asleep there.

Stiles awoke sometime later, blazingly warm and still encased in werewolf. There was something changed about the way Derek was holding him, though; something that told him Derek was awake, and gave him the feeling that Derek was staring at the flames.

"I wasn't there. I didn't see it. Still." Derek told him softly.

"My mom...she drowned. She had a stroke...some blood clot in her brain, and before she could even try to recover from it...she was drowning in the lake up in the Reserve." Stiles swallowed, his throat clicking, "I learned everything I could about drowning, nearly killed myself pushing to be the best in my swim class. They offered me a place on the swim team, actually, but I couldn't…"

Derek's hand was cradled under Stiles's skull, palm warm and broad as he shifted it, shifting Stiles with it until they could see each other. Then Derek kissed him, and Stiles fell into that without a qualm in the world. "Thank you for saving me." Derek whispered against his lips.

Stiles reached up, pressing at the corner of Derek's mouth to get him to stop whatever he was going to say next. "Just for now, we don't talk about it. We can stay here for now, and leave the rest for later?"

"There will be a later, Stiles." Derek grumbled easily into his shoulder as he snuggled in again.

Stiles smiled, because there would be a later.


End file.
